


get home

by overtures



Series: lighten up, buttercup [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Making Out, or my attempts at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 20:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11836038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overtures/pseuds/overtures
Summary: Peter starts visiting MJ whenever he's hurt, and then sometimes when he's not hurt. Making out ensues.





	get home

**Author's Note:**

> some descriptions of making out that are pretty much just "they start making out" 
> 
> title from get home by bastille.

 

Apparently, making something bulletproof did  _ not _ necessarily make it knife proof. Who knew.

 

Peter certainly did not. Or, rather, he was unaware of this fact up until his thigh got up-close and personal with some mugger’s knife and his entire thought process was reduced to ‘holy shit KNIFE IN THE THIGH  _ FUCK!!!!!’ _ .

 

Now he knows. About the whole knife-proof thing.

 

He webs the guy up of course, he’s no ammateur, and he also webs up his thigh in an attempt to stop the blood from coursing all the way down his leg. After he manages to climb up the brickwork to the roof of the nearest building, he sits down on the edge and pulls out his phone, his leg thanking him from taking the pressure off. 

 

“What,” MJ’s voice greets him on the second ring. 

 

“MJ, hi,” he winces as his voice wavers. “Where are you?”

 

“I’m in my room. What’s wrong with you?” Her voice is concerned and damn, he must not be doing a good job of keeping the strain out of his voice.

 

He swallows. “I might be lightly injured and requiring some first-aid and, uh, you took that course last summer right?”

 

“Yeah, but what exactly happened?”

 

“I’ll be at your window in seven minutes,” he dances around her question before hanging up. Crap, now he’s gotta stand. This is going to hurt.

 

Heaving with effort, he manages to make it onto both feet before he jumps off the building, using mostly his uninjured left leg for power. His wound hurts less when he’s not standing or moving the leg, so his arms do most of the work when crawling up the side of MJ’s building into her window.

 

He taps softly on the glass and MJ rushes to slide the window open. “What did you do?” she demands as soon as Peter’s head is inside her room.

 

“It’s fine,” he says, but then MJ notices the patch of webbing on Peter’s leg and her gaze turns mutinous.

 

“Peter.”

 

“There may have been a knife and -”

 

“You said you were lightly injured. Lightly!” she whisper-screams at him.

 

Peter sits down and starts pulling off the webbing attached to his leg. “Well, yeah.”

 

“Stabbed is the adjective you’re looking for. Not ‘injured.’  _ Stabbed _ !” 

 

“I didn’t want to worry you!” he exclaims, defensive. Then his leg starts bleeding freely again because all the webbing is off and okay, it looks pretty bad. MJ’s gonna have to clean her carpet, that’s for sure.

 

MJ obviously agrees with that sentiment because she relents and stops yelling at him. “Strip,” she commands.

 

“What now.”

 

She sighs. “First rule of treating an active bleed is to keep the first layer of bandaging on at all times but you just broke that so now I’m going to clean it which I can’t do if there’s spandex in the way. So. Strip.”

 

“‘S not  _ spandex _ ,” Peter mutters as he presses the button to loosen the fabric from around his body. MJ rolls her eyes and leaves the room, presumably to get some sort of first-aid supplies. “Imagine if Mr. Stark heard that. Spandex.” He scoffs.

 

After his entire suit has been pulled off and he’s left sitting on the floor in nothing but his checkered boxers, MJ reenters the room with a bottle and two plastic bags filled with something white. She nudges his injured leg lightly with her foot before she sits down. “Lemme see.” Peter shifts slightly so she has better access to the cut. It’s still bleeding, albeit slower than before, and the pain has reduced to a constant throbbing.

 

MJ winces. “Any chance that this knife was clean, and follow up question, when did you last get your tetanus shot?”

 

“No idea and no idea. Sorry.”

 

“Well, shit. This might hurt,” she warns before pouring a bit of the bottle onto a white pad from the plastic bag and dabbing it onto his wound.

 

It hurts. Not as much as being stabbed, but it’s a close second.

 

It takes a hot minute for MJ to clean it properly, but eventually the stinging gets calmed by the sensation of something cool being placed onto his leg. Peter looks down to see MJ wrapping gauze from the other bag around his leg and overtop of the bandage she had just applied. She tucks the end of the gauze into her wrapping, securing it tightly, and uses her handiwork to wipe Peter’s blood off from her hands.

 

“Hey,” Peter says, catching her eye. “Thanks.”

 

MJ smiles softly, a grin that’s privy to Peter and no one else. “It’s not a big deal. Anyone else would’ve done it.”

 

Peter shifts so his hips are aligned with MJ’s and tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, but there’s a reason I came to you.”

 

“And what’s that?”

 

He leans his head onto her shoulder. “The slim chance that you’ll take pity on me and we’ll kiss now?”

 

“You’re a nerd,” MJ laughs, but she wraps her hand around Peter’s neck and brings his face up to hers anyways.

 

They make out lazily for a while because they are teenagers, after all. Peter somehow ends up with his hands in her hair before he breaks apart their mouths and murmurs an inch away from MJ’s lips, “Sorry I got blood on your carpet.”

 

MJ wrinkles her nose. “Just don’t make a habit out of it.”

 

He makes a noncommittal noise before he pulls her head back down to his.

 

-

 

Peter makes a habit out of it.

 

Not bleeding out onto MJ’s carpet, precisely. But the whole ‘swinging into MJ’s room because he got his ass handed to him on a silver platter’ thing? Yeah, that becomes a fairly frequent occurrence. Like now, for instance: he’s sitting on MJ’s floor for what’s probably the second time that week because apparently, it’s bad when you use your arm to soften the impact of your body being kicked into a moving car.

 

“You should probably go to the hospital,” MJ tells him as she wraps a sheet of gauze around his possibly broken arm.

 

“It’s probably not even broken,” Peter says as he grabs a roll of medical tape for MJ to secure his ‘cast’ with. “And hospitals are for wimps.”

 

“Well, they’re useful if you want to have wimpy things. Like  _ arms _ .” MJ tightens the gauze (rather aggressively, Peter thinks but doesn’t say aloud) and places a second strip of tape alongside her first one. 

 

Peter rolls his eyes. 

 

“There,” MJ says, releasing his arm from her hold. “I accept payment in the form of loose tea and backrubs and twenty dollar bills.”

 

“How about kisses and proclamations of my undying love?”

 

MJ ponders it for a moment. “That too.”

 

The next day when she asks him about his arm, he rolls up the sleeve of his jacket to show her the already-fading green bruise that’s two inches below his elbow. Her eyebrows raise in surprise. “Huh. That’s pretty neat,” she admits.

 

“I’m pretty neat.”

 

-

 

The thing is, Peter gets hurt a lot.

 

Like, a  _ lot _ .

 

You’d think that having a) super reflexes b) super strength and c) a suit that’s impervious to bullets, fire, electricity and, as of recently, small knives covering his entire body would help him  _ not _ get injured but apparently, all logic in Peter’s life died alongside that spider.

 

But, the other thing is that MJ’s always,  _ always  _ there to patch him up. He feels bad on one level, constantly keeping her up just on the off chance that he might swing by her room, but for the most part, he… doesn’t.

 

Because his girlfriend is really hot and she’s way more, ahem,  _ affectionate _ whenever she’s somewhat tired or he’s somewhat injured. Or a combination of the both.

 

When Peter confesses to May what he’s been doing as of recent, she doesn’t scold him or admonish him or try to give him The Talk, but she does ask if he knows that MJ’s completely okay with it. So he asks her one night as she’s removing porcupine quills from Peter’s calf.

 

(Yes, he’s very sure they’re porcupine quills. It’s a long story.)

 

“Believe me, you would  _ know _ if I wanted you to stop” is her response, so he takes it at face value and doesn’t ask any more questions. The porcupine quills are really starting to hurt. 

 

-

 

MJ slides open her window. “You look like you had a fistfight with a chimney and lost.”

 

“That’s actually pretty accurate,” Peter rasps, the smoke in his lungs making him sound like he’d been smoking a pack of cigarettes a day since he was born. He coughs and yep, that would be soot coming out of his mouth right now.

 

She stands back as he drops himself into MJ’s room, her eyes traversing up and down his body and taking in every aspect of his semi-charred appearance. “What happened?”

 

“There was a fire.”    
  
“Yeah, I got there myself, thanks.”

 

Peter rolls his eyes, somehow managing to be both exasperated and fond at the same time. “It was pretty big, took up two floors before I even got there. It’ll probably be all over the news so you’ll be able to see it there -”

 

“But you’re fine? Not injured or anything?”

 

“The suit got a little flambéed but Mr. Stark made it fireproof, so yeah, I’m fine.”

 

“Oh. Okay.” 

 

MJ doesn’t say anything else so something inside of Peter urges him to prompt her with, “What?”

 

She fixes him with a look, then rolls her eyes and chuckles abashedly. “Nothing, you just normally come here because you’re hurt, that’s all. We have a whole routine and everything.”

 

That’s probably what May was talking about.

 

“What, so I can’t come see my girlfriend after I almost perish in a glorious blaze of -”

 

“Yeah, I like it a lot better when you’re in pain, actually. Because then you shut up.”

 

Peter rolls his eyes. He’s so in love with this girl. “We can still do some parts of that ‘routine’ if you want.”

 

An eyebrow arches. “Well, you gonna take that suit off?”

 

Huh.

 

Nice.

 

He totally thought that MJ was just going to get pissed at him for only coming over when he’s injured. But he’ll take making out.

 

“You have a dirty, dirty mind Miss Jones.” His voice is low and husky. Maybe he should save people from fires more often. But then there’d have to be more fires to rescue people from and -

 

MJ licks her lips and Peter’s mind goes blank. Then:

 

“No, but seriously, you’re getting soot all over my room. I’m not coming anywhere near you when you’re that filthy.”

 

Later, after the suit is in a heap in the far corner of MJ’s room and her shirt is discarded beside it, Peter nudges MJ. “I’ll try to come over when I’m not injured, ‘kay?”

 

MJ smiles at him. “M’kay. I love you.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

-

 

He’s perfectly fine with this turn of events. The more time he spends with his tongue down MJ’s throat the better, in his opinion. 

 

-

 

“Someone told me they saw a cat stuck up in a tree so I rescued it but, plot twist, it wasn’t actually a cat.” Peter pauses for a moment and tilts his head. “Twas a  _ pekingese _ .”

 

MJ arches an eyebrow. “If you think you’re gonna seduce me with your use of ‘twas’ then you are sorely mistaken, mister.”

 

He pouts. “Twasn’t trying to.”

 

She huffs a laugh and adjusts the position of her elbow on the ground. “So you rescued a lap dog from a tree.”

 

“Yup.”

 

“New York would be so lost without you.”

 

“Oh, I know.” They lie beside each other in comfortable silence, MJ’s head resting on Peter’s outstretched arm. His fingers are absentmindedly carding through the soft threads of MJ’s new rug. “When’d you get this?” he asks, tilting his head to indicate the carpet he’s talking about.

 

“Couple days ago. Bleaching your blood out my carpet left a lovely white stain on my carpet that totally threw off the feng shui of my room.”

 

“And the carpet restored it?”

 

“Oh yeah.”

 

Peter snorts. “You’re so lame.”

 

“Says you, have you ever heard yourself speak, like, ever?”

 

“Hey,” Peter points a finger at her. “I’m pretty sure it’s treason to call an Avenger  _ lame _ .”

 

MJ rolls onto her side. Even when she’s insulting him, she’s the most gorgeous person Peter’s ever laid eyes on. “Not quite an Avenger.”

 

“Pretty much an Avenger. Like, 98 percent an Avenger.”

 

“Right, I forgot that the Avengers always rescue lap dogs when they get stuck in trees.”

 

“You’re saying that like you think Captain America  _ wouldn’t _ , which I think also counts as treason. It’s looking like I’m gonna have to call the FBI, Miss Jones.”

 

“ _ Captain America  _ is an international fugitive, so that’s a moot point. Also: he beat you up.”

 

“Was there a point to this conversation?” 

 

MJ cackles at the look on Peter’s face before she scrunches up her nose in false concentration and then shakes her head. Peter laughs.

 

They settle into silence and Peter listens to the noises of the city and the steady rhythm of MJ’s breaths and her heartbeat. After a while, he turns to look over at her. “Hey. Sorry about getting blood on your carpet.”

 

“I told you, I don’t care, I’d rather you bleed on my carpet than on Ned’s.” Her words would sound dismissive to anyone else, but Peter can read her tone. She likes it when he comes over. Even more so now that he’s not constantly requiring immediate medical attention.

 

“Well, there’s no carpet that I’d rather bleed on than yours,” Peter says, just so he can hear her laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always appreciated !!!!!!


End file.
